Line-of-Type  Lyrics 


BY 


BERT  LESTON  TAYLOR 


UC-NRLF 


MS    075 


GIFT  OF 
H.L.Leupp 


Line~of~Type  Lyrics 


Line -of -Type  Lyrics 

BY 

BERT  LESTON  TAYLOR 

AUTHOR  OF 

"The  Biiiotistine,"  ''The  Book  Booster,"  Etc, 


E  vanston 

WILLIAM    S.     LORD 
1902 


Copyright,  1902, 
WILLIAM   S.   LORD 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 

j*  #  j* 


PAGE 


Ballade  of  Spring's  Unrest  H 
To  Margaret  at  the  Urn       .         .         .         .12 

Farewell 13 

Obsessional       .         .         .         .         ,         .  15 

If  I  Were  Francois  Villon  16 

The  Premature  Poet            ....  17 

Spring  Song        .  17 

Four  Limericks 18 

When  the  Sirup's  on  the  Flapjack     ,         .  19 

Seeds  of  Anarchy 20 

In  Every  Street  Car       .         .         ,         .  22 

Ballad  of  the  Clark  Street  Cable           .         .  23 

Miss  Legion        .....  25 

Autumn  Reveries 26 

Recalling  "The  Battle  of  Limerick"           .  27 

Washington's  Birthday,  1902       ...  29 


;....  31 

Social  Economics    .         .         .                   .  32 

Rondeau:  To  Ethelwyn        .         .         .  -33 

Calverley's  Ode  to  Tobacco      ...  34 

Ballade  of  Lovelorn  Ladies  .         .         .  -36 

The  Persistent  Poet  37 

A  West  African  Tragedy      .         .         .  .38 

Mere  Thoughts      .....  39 

The  Kaiser's  Farewell  to  Prince  Henry   .  .     41 

Mr.  Kipling's — "The  Question"      .         .  43 

Le  Morte  De  Cock  Robin             .          .  .45 

The  Pestilential  Pianist    ....  49 

Prince  Chun's  Apology      .         .         .  -50 

The  Sonnet  Contest       ....  52 
Hymn  Before  Battle           ....      56 

All  That  I  Ask     .         .  57 

When  Polacks  Wed            ...  58 


Line-o'-Tvpc  Lyrics 


BALLADE  OF  SPRING'S  UNREST. 

IN  the  woodland  where  Spring 
Comes  as  a  laggard  the  breeze 

Whispers  the  pines  that  the  King. 
Fallen,  has  yielded  the  keys 
To  his  White  Palace  and  flees 

Northward  o'er  mountain  and  dale. 
Speed  then  the  hour  that  frees! 

Ho  for  the  pack  and  the  trail! 

Northward  my  fancy  takes  wing. 

Restless  am  I,  ill  at  ease. 
Pleasures  the  city  can  bring 

Lose  now  their  power  to  please. 

Barren,  all  barren,  are  these; 
Town  life's  a  tedious  tale  ; 

That  cup  is  drained  to  the  lees  ; — 
Ho  for  the  pack  and  the  trail! 


1  Ho  far  the  morning  I  sling 

Pack  at  my  back,  and  with  knees 
Brushing  a  thoroughfare  fling 

Into  the  green  mysteries ; 

One  with  the  birds  and  the  bees, 
One  with  the  squirrel  and  quail. 

Night,  and  the  stream's  melodies: — 
Ho  for  the  pack  and  the  trail  I 

Pictures  and  music  and  teas. 
Theatres — books  even — stale. 

Ho  for  the  smell  of  the  trees  ! 
H o  for  the  pack  and  the  trail! 


TO  MARGARET  AT  THE  URN. 

LEAVE  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup. 
And  I'll  not  look  for  tea. 

Fair  Margaret,  e'er  I  take  it  up. 

O,  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup ! 

Then  with  the  gods  I'd  scorn  to  sup. 
Though  Hebe  smiled  on  me. 

O,  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup. 
And  I'll  not  look  for  tea. 

12 


FAREWELL. 

[Provoked  by  Calverley's  "Forever."] 

REWELL!"     Another  gloomy  word 
As  ever  into  language  crept. 
Tis  often  written,  never  heard 
Except 

In  playhouse.     Ere  the  hero  flits— 
In  handcuffs — from  our  pitying  view, 
"Farewell!"  he  murmurs,  then  exits 
R.  U. 

"Farewell  1"  is  much  too  sighful  for 

An  age  that  has  not  time  to  sigh. 
We  say,  "I'll  see  you  later,"  or 
"Cood-by!" 

When,  warned  by  chanticleer,  you  go 
From  her  to  whom  you  owe  devoir, 
''Say  not  'Good-by,'  she  laughs,  "but'Au 
Revoir!'  " 

Thus  from  the  garden  are  you  sped: 

And  Juliet  were  the  first  to  tell 
You,  you  were  silly  if  you  said 
"Farewell !" 

13 


"Fare  well,"  meant  long  ago,  before 

It  crept  tear-spattered  into  song, 
"Safe  voyage!"  "Pleasant  journey!"  or 
"So  long!" 


But  gone  its  cheery,  old-time  ring; 

The  poets  made  it  rhyme  with  knell. 
Joined  it  became  a  dismal  thing — 
"Farewell  I" 

"Farewell  !"  Into  the  lover's  soul 

You  see  Fate  plunge  the  cruel  iron. 
All  poets  use  it.     It's  the  whole 
Of  Byron. 

"I  only  feel — farewell!"  said  he; 

And  always  tearful  was  the  telling. 
Lord  Byron  was  eternally 
Farewelling. 

"Farewell !"   A  dismal  word  'tis  true 

(And  why  not  tell  the  truth  about  it?) 
But  what  on  earth  would  poets  do 
Without  it? 


OBSESSIONAL. 

[Provoked  by  seeing  the  Fire  Fiend  thrust  out 
his  tongue  at  Handel  Hall.] 

LL  of  oof  father,  Henry  George, 
First  in  our  far-flung  firing  line, 
Beneath  whose  hallowed  roof  we  forge 
The  thunderbolt  and  lay  the  mine, 
O  Handel  Hall !  be  with  us  yet— 
Lest  we  forget !       Lest  we  forget ! 

The  tumult  of  Reform's  brass  bands. 
The  shouts  of  victory,  are  spent : 

Unscathed,  defiant,  proud,  still  stands 
Our  foe — the  Unearned  Increment ! 

O  Handel  Hall !   stay  with  us  yet — 

Lest  we  forget !       Lest  we  forget  ! 

Far  called,  our  commerce  flaunts  away; 

In  myriad  forges  flames  our  fire, 
Lo  !  all  our  wealth  of  yesterday 

Recalls  the  old  boom  days  in  Tyre. 
O  Handel  Hal! !  don't  leave  us  yet  — 
Lest  we  forget !       Lest  we  forget  ! 


n 


-IF  I  WERE  FRANCOIS  VILLON." 

[Provoked  by  Eugene  Field's  Bibliomaniac.] 

I  WERE  Francois  Villon,  and  Francois  Villon  I, 
Methmks  I'd  pass  up  Paris  and  give  this  town 
a  try. 

He,  with  a  foolish  pencil,  would  sit  and  paragraph, 

To  cause  judicious  grieving  and  provoke  unskill 
ful  laugh; 

But  I,  with  knife  or  knuckles,  would  prowl  the 
dark  highway 

And  bribe  the  snoozing,  boozing,  bruising  cop  to 
keep  away, 

Whilst  with  my  trusty  lead  pipe  I  stilled  my 
victim's  cry — 

If  I  were  Francois  Villon  and  Francois  Villon  I. 


If  I  were  Francois  Villon  and  Francois  Villon  I, 
I'd  wink  at  Captain  Colleran  and  Kipley  I'd  defy. 
He,  with  his  foolish  pencil,  would  sit  all  day 

and  drool. 

Attempting  to  be  witty — not  succeeding,  as  a  rule: 
Whilst  I,  equipped  for  business,  in  my  cloak  a 

lead  pipe  tucked, 

16 


Would  gather  gold  and  silver  at  the  Twelfth 

street  viaduct. 
Oh,  yes  :     I'd  pass  up  Paris  and  give  this  town 

a  try 
If  I  were  Francois  Villon  and  Francois  Villon  I. 


LT 


THE  PREMATURE  POET. 

E  poet  sought  the  sweet  white  violet 

'Long  woodland  pathways  soaked  with  winter's 

snows ; 

Seeking,  he  got  his  feet  exceeding  wet, 
And  later  turned  up  his  poetic  toes. 


IT. 


SPRING  SONG. 

WEISS  mcht  was  soil  es  bedeuten 
Dass  ich  so  traurig  bin. 
Bei  diesem  abscheulichen  Wetter 

Wie  kleid  'ich  mich — dick  oder  duenn? 
Heut'  ist  es  so  kalt  wie  in  Greenland, 

Und  morgen  schwitzt  mancher  sich  schlank, 
Und  wer  in  Gesondheit  heut  funkelt 
Liegt  morgen  in  ben,  und  ist  krank. 


DH 


FOUR  LIMERICKS. 


I. 


ERE  once  was  a  Princess  of  Thule, 
Who  remarked  :  "When  my  turn  comes  to  rule 
The  first  man  I'll  tin-can 
Is  that  coachman  McCann; 
For  I  never  could  j  stand  for  the  fool. 

II. 

There  was  also  A  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 
Who  had  eaten  sweet  stuff  from  her  birth. 

Til  1  one  day  she  said  :    "Gee ! 

I  must  let  such  things  be  : 
For  I  fear  the  effect  on  my  girth." 

HI. 

There  was  likewise  A  Maid  of  the  Mist. 

Who  never,  as  yet,  had  been  kissed. 
If  you  tried  to  embrace  her 
She  murmured:    "Nay.  niy,  sir  !" 

And  gave  you  a  slap  on  the  wrist. 
18 


IV. 

McCmnis,  a  musical  hobo, 
Performed  passing  well  on  the  oboe, 

Airs  Irish  or  Negro. 

He  tooted  allegro 
Con  6r/o  non  troppo  adobo. 

WHEN  THE  SIRUP'S  ON  THE  FLAPJACK. 

EN  the  sirup's  on  the  flapjack  and  the  coffee's 

in  the  pot; 
When  the  fly  is  in  the  butter — where  he'd 

rather  be  than  not; 
When  the  cloth  is  on  the  table,  and  the  plates 

are  on  the  cloth; 
When  the  salt  is  in  the  shaker  and  the  chicken's 

in  the  broth; 
When  the  cream  is  in  the  pitcher  and  the  pitcher's 

on  the  tray, 
And  the  tray  is  on  the  sideboard  when  it 

isn't  on  the  way; 
When  the  rind  is  on  the  bacon  and  likewise 

upon  the  cheese. 
Then  I  somehow  feel  inspired  to  do  a  lot  of 

rhymes  like  these. 

19 


SEEDS  OF  ANARCHY, 

DDO  not  much  concern  myself 
About  my  wealthy  neighbors'  "tin": 
I  care  not  how  they  got  their  pelf 
And  care  less  how  they  blow  it  in. 

Toward  Handel  Hall  I  fear  I  am. 

To  say  the  least,  indifferent : 
I  do  not  care  a  tinker's  dam 

About  the  "unearned  increment." 

In  fact — it  may  as  well  be  said — 
I  rather  like  the  folks  of  wealth. 

They  wash  themselves,  and  do  not  shed 
Microbes  to  undermine  my  health. 

No  doubt  they're  black  enough  at  core — 
Their  outward  cleanliness  but  sham: 

However,  as  I  said  before, 
I  do  not  care  a  tinker's  dam. 

Their  fuss  and  feathers,  follies — all 
I  look  upon  with  tolerant  eye. 

Nor  even  yield  to  Handel  Hall 
The  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 


20 


But  when  at  three  o'clock,  or  four, 
I  seek  my  virtuous  couch,  to  keep 

A  date  with  old  Morpheus — or, 
In  other  words,  to  go  to  sleep — 

When  sleep  with  me  no  terms  will  make, 
But  from  my  couch  affrighted  flees, 

And  I  for  hours  am  kept  awake 

By  fearful  howls  and  shrieks  like  these: 

"Four-forty-nine!'' 

"Mrs.  Flighty 's  carriage!" 

"Mr.    Sportiboise   carriage!      Four-'leven- 

forty-four!" 

"Chu-chu-chu-chu-chu !'  '* 
"Mrs.  Hotstuffe's  carriage!" 
"Victoria  livery!" 
"Bla-a-a!     BI-a-a-a!"f 
"One-sixty-six!" 
"Soakem's  livery!" 
"Four-forty-four!'' 

Why,  then  in  language  loose  and  loud, 
I  curse  the  diabolic  din; 

"The  gasoline  auto. 
tThe  horn  of  the  aoto. 

21 


I  curse  the  Plutocratic  crowd — 

The  noisy  way  they  blow  their  "tin." 
Sleepless,  I  toss  about  and  growl, 

And  am  resolved  to  make  descent 
Next  night  on  Handel  Hall  and  howl 

About  the  "unearned  increment." 
Nay.  further  yet — to  urge  the  rope 

For  all  enrolled  on  Mammon's  lists: 
To  cultivate  contempt  for  soap. 

And  join  a  club  of  Anarchists. 

IN  EVERY  STREET  CAR. 

STREET  CAR  (especially  next  to  the  stove) 

Is  coldest  of  all  frigid  things; 
But  it's  never — as  you  may  at  any  time  prove — 
Too  cold  for  the  lady  that  likes  to  remove 
From  one  hand,  which  is  commonly  dirty,  the  glove. 
And  show  her  collection  of  rings. 


22 


BALLAD  OF  THE  CLARK  STREET  CABLE. 

rAS  in  a  vault  beneath  the  street, 

In  the  trench  of  the  Clark  street  rope. 
That  I  found  a  guy  with  a  fishy  eye 

And  a  think  tank  filled  with  dope. 
His  hair  was  matted,  his  face  was  black, 

And  matted  and  black  was  he; 
And  I  heard  this  wight  in  the  vault  recite. 

In  a  singular  minor  key: 
"O,  I  am  the  guy  with  the  fishy  eye, 

And  the  think  tank  filled  with  dope. 
My  work  is  to  watch  the  beautiful  botch 

That's  known  as  the  Clark  street  rope. 
"I  pipes  my  eye  as  the  rope  goes  by 

For  every  dangerous  spot. 
If  I  spies  one  out  I  gives  a  shout 

And  we  puts  in  another  knot. 
"Them  knots  is  all  like  brothers  to  me, 

And  I  loves  'em,  one  and  all." 
The  muddy  guy  with  the  fishy  eye 

A  muddy  tear  let  fall. 
"There  goes  a  knot  what  we  tied  last  week; 

There's  one  what  we  tied  today; 

23 


And  there's  a  peach  what  was  hard  to  reach. 
And  caused  six  hours'  delay. 

"Two  hundred  and  seventy- nine  all  told. 

And  I  knows  their  history; 
And  I'm  most  attached  to  a  break  we  patched 

In  the  winter  of  'eighty-three. 

''For  every  time  that  knot  comes  round 

It  sings  out:     'Howdy,  Bill! 
We'll  walk  'em  home  tonight,  old  man. 

From  here  to  the  Ferris  Wheel. 

"  'We'll  walk  'em  home  in  the  rush  hours.Bill, 

A  swearing  company, 
As  we've  walked  'em.  Bill,  since  I  was  tied 

In  the  winter  of  'eighty-three.'  ' 

The  dopey  guy  with  the  fishy  eye 

Let  fall  another  tear. 
"Them  knots  is  wife  and  child  to  me: 

I've  known  'em  forty  year. 

"For  I'm  the  guy  with  the  fishy  eye 
And  the  think  tank  filled  with  dope. 

Whose  work  is  to  watch  the  beautiful  botch 
That's  known  as  the  Clark  street  rope.'' 

24 


MISS  LEGION. 

E  is  hotfoot  after  Cultyure: 

She  pursues  it  with  a  club. 
She  breathes  a  heavy  atmosphere 

Of  literary  flub. 
No  literary  shrine  so  far 

But  she  is  there  to  kneel: 

And— 
Her  favorite  bunch  of  reading 

Is  O.  Meredith's  "Lucille." 


Of  course  she's  up  on  pictures — 

Passes  for  a  connoisseur; 
On  free  days  at  the  Institute 

You'll  always  notice  her. 
She  qualifies  approval 

Of  a  Titian  or  Corot. 

But— 
She  throws  a  fit  of  rapture 

When  she  comes  to  Bouguereau. 

And  when  you  talk  of  music. 

Why.  she's  Music's  devotee. 
She  will  tell  you  that  Beethoven 

25 


Always  makes  her  wish  to  pray, 
And  "dear  old  Bach!"  his  very  name, 

She  says,  her  ear  enchants; 

But— 
Her  favorite  piece  is  Weber's 

"Invitation  to  the  Dance." 

AUTUMN  REVERIES. 

|HEN  the  leaves  are  falling  crimson 

And  the  worm  is  off  its  feed; 
When  the  rag  weed  and  the  jimson 

Have  agreed  to  go  to  seed: 
When  the  air  in  forest  bowers 

Has  a  tang  like  Rhenish  wine, 
And  to  breathe  it  for  two  hours 

Makes  you  feel  you'd  like  to  dine; 
When  the  frost  is  on  the  pumpkin 

And  the  corn  is  in  the  shock. 
And  the  cheek  of  country  bumpkin 

City  faces  seems  to  mock; 
When  you  come  across  a  ditty 

(Like  this  one)   of  Autumn's  chirm, 
Then  it's  pleasant  in  the  city, 

Where  at  least  one  can  keep  warm. 

26 


RECALLING   "THE  BATTLE  OF  LIMERICK." 

genii  of  the  nation, 
ho  look  wid  vineration 

An'  the  Sinit's  degrydation  onsaysingly  deplore: 
Ye  sons  of  Brian  Bor-oo, 
Who  smash  all  heads  before  you, 
Attind  to  the  wild  hurroo  on  the  Sinit  flure. 

Twas  Sinitor  Ben  Tillman, 

At  schrappin'  not  an  ill  man. 
Who  thinks  'tis  right  to  kill  man  (provide  'tis 
nayger  gore), 

He  got  a  grand  ould  shcorin' 

From  Sinitor  McLaurin, 
And  started  a  wild  roann'  on  the  Sinit  flure. 

Mac's  timper  risin'  higher. 

He  sez,  "Ben,  yer  a  liar!" 
Sez  he,  which  caused  the  ire  of  Tillman  fur  to  soar. 

Up  flew  Ben  like  a  burrd 

An'  soaked  Mac  in  the  furhd. 
Wow!     what  a  row  was  hurrd  on  the  Sinit  flure. 

There  was  some  grand  infoightin'. 
Wid  chewin'  and  wid  boitin" 

27 


An'  whin  'twas  most  excoitm  some  wan  cries, 
"Bar  the  dufe! 

Let  saycrecy  attind  us; 

Put  shcranes  befure  the  windies, 
That  no  wan  see  our  shindies  on  the  Sinit  flure." 

Smitors  Scott  an'  Warren 

They  grabbed  hould  of  McLaurin, 
To  kape  him  from  explorin'  his  colleague's  heart 
for  gore; 

An'  valiant  Sargent  Lay  ton 

Got  a  divvle  of  a  batin* 
Combathants  siperatin'  on  the  Sinit  flure. 

Mr.  Frye  fur  order  knocked. 

An'  the  dure  was  closed  an'  locked; 

An'  ivery  wan  was  shocked — espicially  Garge  Hoar. 
The  combathants  they  widdrew. 
An'  fur  pardon  they  did  sue — 

Which  mded  the  shaloo  on  the  Sinit  flure. 


28 


WASHINGTON'S   BIRTHDAY,   1902. 

[EAR  George,  in  serio-cynic    way 
We  turn  our  thoughts  to  you  today: 
Not  George  the  singularly  pure 

Tongued  laddie 

Who  could  not  lie,  but  George  the  man. 
Who  could.  Sometimes  we  wonder:  Can 
This  be  the  country  of  which  you're 
The  daddy? 

The  same.  George;  no,  not  quite  the  same. 
We've  gathered  wealth,  and  strength,  and 

fame; 
Improved  upon  the  parent  stock; 

Grown  wiser. 
(One  moment,  George — Prince  Henry's 

here. 
Excuse  us  while  we  add  our  cheer: 

"Hoch!"-or  as  most  of  us  say,"Hock"- 
"Der  Kaiser!") 

We're  very  German,  George,  today. 
And  more  disposed  to  drink  and  play 

29 


Than  list  to  patriotic  screed 

Or  sermon. 

The  Prince  is  with  us.  No  offense. 
Your  name,  of  course,  takes  precedence. 
In  other  words.  Dear  George,  you  lead 
The  German. 

You've  led  the  German,  George,  before. 
You  led  him,  on  the  Jersey  shore, 
A  merry  dance  in  'seventy-six — 

December. 

You  rather  jarred  the  British  crown 
That  Christmas  night  in  Trenton  Town. 
The  German  crowd  lost  all  the  tricks  — 
Remember? 

Of  course  you  do,  and  wonder  how 
It  happens  that  our  voices  now 

In  praise  of  Deutschland's  royal  tar 

We're  lifting; 

And  how  you  hear  on  every  hand 
The  language  of  Der  Vaterland. 

No  doubt  you  wonder,  "Whither  are 
We  drifting?" 

30 


It's  all  right,  George.     You  see,  we  got 
The  job  to  build  the  Kaiser's  yacht. 
As  for  the  rest — pray,  how  could  we 

Oppose  it? 

You've  had  a  birthday  every  year. 
And  you'll  have  others,  never  fear. 
Here's  a  fresh,  foaming  stein  to  thee  ! 
George,  "Prosit!" 


JJH 


DEPRESSIONAL. 

E  birds  are  flying  southward; 

The  leaves  are  growing  sere; 
We  wait  with  less  impatience 

For  the  man  to  draw  the  beer, 
From  which  I  draw  the  inference 

That  Autumn  must  be  here. 


SOCIAL  ECONOMICS. 

RINNA  frowns.     She  thinks  it  wise, 
If  she  be  happy,  to  disguise 
Such  weakness.     For,  if  woman  wear 
A  countenance  that's  free  from  care, 
Man  feels  quite  free  to  tyrannize. 

When  at  the  club  some  women  rise 

To  preach  good  nature,  and  advise 

A  smiling  face  and  cheerful  air. 

Cohnna  frowns. 

The  lovelight  in  a  woman's  eyes 
Will  never  light  her  to  the  skies; 

A  fierce,  intimidating  glare 

Must  show  the  way  up  Freedom's  stair. 
And  so — for  that  way  progress  lies — 

Corinna  frowns. 


RONDEAU:     TO  ETHELWYN. 

Ethelwyn  I  sing!  For  her 
My  Pegasus  will  need  no  spur. 
How  could  I  know,  last  Christmas   eve, 
That  Gen  would  F.  P.  A.  deceive? 
I  thought  myself  a  connoisseur. 

With  every  wish  did  she  concur. 
O,  my!     She  was  a  jollier! 
But  now  I  turn  from  Genevieve 

To  Ethelwyn. 

Go,  Memory  of  things  that  were! 
To  her  who  sets  my  heart  astir 

These  threads  on  Fancy's  loom  I  weave, 
All  other  ties  I  hereby  cleave. 
O,  Cupid,  give  me  a  transfer 

To  Ethelwyn. 

[P.P.  A. 


33 


CALVERLEY'S  ODE 

TO  TOBACCO. 

[Revised  by  Lucy  Pag«Qaston.] 

NSTER  demoniacl 

fty  in  thy  attack  I 
Thou  who  with  juices  black 

Young  lungs  defilest; 
Vile,  when  the  morn  is  gray: 
Vile,  when  they've  cleared  away 
Lunch;  and  at  close  of  day 
Possibly  vilest: 

I  have  a  hatred  old 
For  thee,  and  manifold 
Stories — true  ones — are  told 

To  thy  discredit: 
How  one  (or  two  at  most) 
Drops  make  a  cat  a  ghost — 
Useless,  except  to  roast — 

Doctors  have  said  it; 

How  they  who  use  fusees 
All  grow  by  slow  degrees 
Brainless  as  chimpanzees, 

34 


Meager  as  lizards; 
Go  mad,  and  beat  their  wives: 
Plunge  (after  shocking  lives) 
Razors  and  carving  knives 
Into  their  gizzards. 

Such  are  thy  knavish  tricks. 
I  know  of  five  or  six 
Smokers  who  ne'er  will  mix 

More  with  their  neighbors. 
They—  it  is  sad  to  say — 
Now  are  but  lifeless  clay; 
Smoked  nasty  pipes,  did  they, 

After  their  labors. 

Tabbies  have  had  their  goose 
Cooked  by  tobacco  juice: 
Yet  men  defend  its  use, 

"Thoughtfully  taken"  !  ! 
We're  but  as  tabbies  are. 
Death  lurks  in  the  cigar 
And  the  tobacco-jar. 
Congress,  awaken! 


35 


BALLADE  OF  LOVELORN  LADIES. 

NEVIEVE,  Ethelwyn.  Griyce, 
Marjorie,  Rosalind,  Rose — 

Others  who  tearfully  trace 
Daily  their  amorous  woes — 
Whose  every  billet-doux  shows 

Life  is  all  wormwood  and  gall — 
List!     I'll  a  secret  disclose: 

G;Ws,  I'm  in  hoe  with  you  all. 

Had  I  the  time  and  the  space; 

Did  not  a  ballade  impose 
Limits  one  may  not  efface; 

Were  I  but  writing  in  prose; 

I  should  be  pleased  to  depose 
Just  the  extent  of  my  thrall. 

Haply,  I  can't  be  verbose: 
Girls,  I'm  in  love  with  you  all. 

Not  that  I  think  to  displace 
Lovers  you  long  ago  chose. 

One  heart  could  scarcely  embrace 
Arrows  from  so  many  bows. 
Take — all  I  dare  to  propose — 

36 


Each  an  allotment.     Though  small. 
Maybe  'twill  help  some.     Who 

knows? 
Girls,  I'm  in  hoe  with  you  all 

Dry,  then,  each  tear-spattered  nose; 

If  you  need  sympathy,  call, 
Take  this  assurance  to  close: 
Girls  Im  in  love  with  you  all. 


THE  PERSISTENT  POET. 

REMEMBER,  I  remember"— 
omething  special?  Not  a  bit. 
But,  you  see,  this  is  September, 
And  Remember  rhymes  with  it. 


D 


37 


A  WEST  AFRICAN  TRAGEDY. 

SHE  wives  of  the  Chief  Fodey  Kabba 

(Never  fairer  were  broke 

In  the  marital  yoke). 
Like  the  thieves  of  our  friend  Ali  Baba, 

Have  been  killed  at  one  terrible  stroke. 

Fair  and  fat,  and  just  forty  in  number, 

With  necks  as  snow  white* 

And  black  eyes  as  bright 
As  ever  bent  o'er  a  chief's  slumber. 

Blown  higher  than  Cilderoy's  kite. 

It  seems  that  some  one  had  been  smoking, 

In  manner  serene. 

Near  the  chief's  magazine 
(It  was  really  very  provoking). 

And  the  ladies  were  all  on  the  scene. 

They  are  gone,  and  no  one  can  restore  'em. 

He  can  train  up  a  new 

Batch  of  wives,  it  is  true: 
But  think  of  the  job  that's  before  him! 

We  wouldn't  attempt  it — would  you? 


*Poetic  license  No.  480. 

38 


MERE  THOUGHTS. 

[Suggested  by  the  Purity  Convention.] 

AVE  you  ever  paused  to  wonder 
What  would  be  Earth's  dismal  fate 

Were  it  not  for  those  that  under- 
Take  to  keep  it  spinning  straight? — 

Who  have  time  and  taste  for  minding 
Every  business  but  their  own, 

And  assume  a  contract  binding 
As  the  Sisyphean  stone? 

Thanks  to  them,  our  rakish  planet 
Keeps  within  the  moral  law. 

Tho'  it  wish  to,  never  can  it 
Closer  unto  Venus  draw; 

Never  go  off  gallivanting 
With  the  lady  stars  of  space, 

Where  the  Pleiad  girls  go  panting 
In  the  never-ending  chase; 

Never  flirt  with  Cassiopeia, 
Never  take  Callisto's  hand, 

Never  give  the  lone  Astraea 

Chance  to  murmur,  "This  is  grand." 

39 


You  and  I.  perchance,  are  musing 
With  our  heads  among  the  stars, 

Quite  regardless  of  the  boozing 
At  a  multitude  of  bars; 

Quite  regardless  of  a  lady 
Who  next  door  to  us  resides. 

With  a  past  that  is  as  shady 
As  the  grove  where  Dian  hides: 

Never  dreaming  that  Pomona, 
Who  is  pretty  and  demure, 

Would  come  short  of  a  diploma 
In  conventions  of  the  pure: 

Never  thinking,  as  we  ought  to, 

Of  the  sin  all  over  town; 
Never  giving  any  thought  to 

Any  business  but  our  own. 

Pause  a  moment,  then,  and  wonder 
What  this  sad,  bad  world  would  do 

Were  it  not  for  those  that  under- 
Take  to  keep  it  whirling  true. 


40 


THE  KAISER'S  FAREWELL  TO  PRINCE 
HENRY. 

FWIEDERSEHEN,  brother  mine! 
Farewells  will  soon  be  kissed; 
And,  ere  you  leave  to  breast  the  brine, 
Give  me  once  more  your  fist; 

That  mailed  fist,  clenched  high  in  air 

On  many  a  foreign  shore. 
Enforcing  coaling  stations  where 

No  stations  were  before; 

That  fist,  which  weaker  nations  view 

As  if  'twere  Michael's  own. 
And  which  appals  the  heathen  who 

Bow  down  to  wood  and  stone. 

But  this  trip  no  brass  knuckles.     Glove 

That  heavy  mailed  hand; 
Your  mission  now  is  one  of  Love 

And  Peace — you  understand. 

All  that's  American  you'll  praise; 

The  Yank  can  do  no  wrong. 
To  use  his  own  expressive  phrase. 

Just  "jolly  him  along." 


Express  surprise  to  find,  the  more 

Of  Roosevelt  you  see. 
How  much  I  am  like  Theodore, 

And  Theodore  like  me. 

I  am,  in  fact,  (this  might  not  be 

A  bad  thing  to  suggest,) 
The  Theodore  of  the  East,  and  he 

The  William  of  the  West. 

And,  should  you  get  a  chance,  find  out- 

If  anybody  knows — 
Exactly  what  it's  all  about. 

That  Doctrine  of  Monroe's. 

That's  entre  nous.     My  present  plan 

You  know  as  well  as  I: 
Be  just  as  Yankee  as  you  can: 

If  needs  be,  eat  some  pie. 

Cut  out  the  'kraut,  cut  out  Rhine  wine. 

Cut  out  the  Schutzenfest, 
The  Sangerbund,  the  Turnverein, 

The  Kommers,  and  the  rest. 

And  if  some  fool  society 

"Die  Wacht  am  Rhein*'  should  sing, 

42 


You  sing  "My  Country  Tis  of  Thee" — 
The  tune's  "God  Save  the  King." 

To  our  own  kindred  in  that  land 

There's  not  much  you  need  tell. 
fust  tell  them  that  you  saw  me,  and 

That  I  was  looking  well. 

MR.  KIPLING'S— "THE  QUESTION."  * 

[From  the  London  Times.] 

GE  more  our  arms  in  Africa  have  got  another 

check. 
Benson's  command  is  what  you  might  call  a  total 

wreck. 
Look  at  the  maddening   figures !     Benson  killed 

outright. 
And  eight  other  gallant  officers  also  killed  in  the 

fight. 

Fifty-eight  non-commissioned  officers  and  men. 
Who  fell  upon  the  veldt  and  will  never  get  up 

again. 

*Which  provoked  a  solemn  magazine  article  on  the  decadence 
of  Kipling. 

43 


The  question  my  lords  and  gentlemen  that  I  here 

ask  of  you. 
Is,  What  art  we  going  to  do,  eh?  What  are  we 

going  to  do? 

We  thought  we  had  Botha  pocketed,  with  a  paltry 

three  hundred  men, 

And  the  first  we  knew  he  was  up  and  at  us  again, 
We  sneered  at  them,  called  them  "guerrillas,"  and 

didn't  think  that  they 
Would  cast  a  shadow  of  any  size  on  our  corona- 

tion  day. 
But  now  we've  found,  as  we've  found  before,  that 

there's  something  wrong, 
That  instead  of  being  guerrillas  they're  an  army 

still  and  strong. 

And  the  question  that  must  be  answered,  the  ques 
tion  that's  up  to  you, 
Is,  What  are  we  going  to  do,  eh?  What  are  we 

going  to  do? 


44 


LE  MORTE  DE  COCK  ROBIN. 
Sixth  Book. 

SIR  HAROLD  AND  SIR  JOHN. 

How  ye  Knighte  of  ye  Golde  Tipps  chaunced  to  ineete  ye 
Knighte  of  ye  Corke  Tipps,  and  did  invyte  hym  to  a  just 
ing;  and  how  ye  Knightes  foughten  a  great  combat  untill  both 
were  aswowne 


XXV. 

|E  while  ye  esquire  of  Sir  John 

Did  ply  ye  vaseline. 
Sir  Harold's  squire.  Light  Housman,  rubbed 
Hys  Knighte  with  listerine. 

XXVI. 
Ye  while  Sir  John  anoynted  was 

With  orange  floure  cheese. 
Sir  Harold's  squire  did  do  ye  same 
For  hym  with  creme  marquise. 

XXVII. 

And  while  ye  Knightes  each  other  did 

Insult  in  pantomime, 
Ye  squires  did  talcum-powder  them 

And  give  ye  signal,  -'Time  !" 

45 


XXVIII. 

Righte  eagerly  ye  warring  Knightes 
Did  rush  in  brim16  embrace, 

And  dashed  ye  Turkish  cigarette 
In  each  ye  other's  face. 

XXIX. 

So  violent  ye  shocke  it  was 

Both  fell  upon  ye  grounde 
Astoned1?.     With  fans  and  gynger  ayle 

Ye  squires  did  bringe  them  rounde. 

XXX. 

Sir  Harold  now  lept  atte  Sir  John, 
And  slapped  hym  on  ye  wriste: 

Sir  John  did  counter  with  a  slap 
Upon  Sir  Harold's  chist'8. 

XXXI. 

And  eft'9  they  fell,  and  man  would  say 
That  each  or  both  were  slain. 

Ye  squires  did  ply  ye  smellynge  salts. 
And  bring  them  round  again. 

46 


XXXII. 

**  'Ods  copy-paper!"  cried  Sir  John. 

And  hurtled30  with  hys  righte: 
"'Ods  violet  ink!"  Sir  Harold  cried. 

And  smote  with  all  hys  mighte. 

XXXIII. 

And  thus  they  fared  an  hour  or  more. 

Attempting  each  to  lande: 
They  rased  and  lashed,  and  trased  and  rashed21 

And  foined22  to  beat  ye  bande. 

XXXIV, 

Atte  laste  Sir  Harold  waxed  hym  fainte. 

And  gave  somewhat  aback, 
"Now,"  cried  ye  esquire  of  Sir  John, 

"Hande  him  a  cracker jacke!"23 

XXXV. 

Sir  John  did  putte  forthe  alle  hys  mighte 

To  give  ye  coup  de  grace, 
And  eft  another  cigarette 

Dashed  in  Sir  Harold's  face. 

47 


XXXVI. 

It  was  a  fell  and  fearful  stroke! 

Sir  John  then  fell  attainted4 
Ye  victor  and  ye  vanquished  lay 

Together  in  a  fainte. 

XXXVII. 

And  while  ye  Kightes  did  lie  aswowne,25 

With  faces  wan  and  pale, 
Ye  doughty  squires  did  finish  up 

Ye  stock  of  gynger  ayle. 

GLOSSARY 

16  Furious.          17  Stunned.  18  Chest.  19  Again 

20  Led  out.  21  Danced  about.  22  Sparred. 

23  A  mighty  stioke.    24  Exhausted      25  In  a  swoon. 


48 


THE  PESTILENTIAL  PIANIST. 

JESTILENTIAL  pianist 

Large  of  arm  and  stiff  of  wrist, 
Hatless,  coatless,  soulless  too, 
Did  it  e'er  occur  to  you 
That  your  pounding's  very  hard  on 
Patrons  of  this  summer  garden  ? 
Heavens!     ou  are  nosier  far 
Than  a  clanging  cable  car ! 
Did  a  mortal  ever  see 
More  pernicious  industry  ? 
Why  in  Sam  Hill  can't  you  quit 
For  at  leist  five  minutes  ?     It 
Isn't  necessary  for 
You  to  make  the  piano  roar 
Every  minute  of  the  night. 
At  the  very  least  you  might 
Stop  and  take  a  drink  or  two, 
I'll  pay  for  it  if  you  do. 
Ah  !  he  stops!  I  really  think 
That's  he's  going  to  get  that  drink. 
Heavens  !  there  he  goes  again, 
Hammering  with  might  and  main, 

49 


Pestilential  pianist — 
Saw-log  arm  and  iron  wrist — 
I've  a  mind  to  rise  and  throttle 
You  or  brain  you  with  a  bottle. 
Come,  my  dear  let's  cut  this  riot; 
Let's  go  some  place  where  it's  quiet. 

PRINCE  CHUN'S  APOLOGY. 

(HEN  the  hour  was  come  Prince  Chun  arose. 

And  balanced  a  shoestring  on  his  nose, 
"From  this  some  notion  you  will  get," 
Said  he,  "of  China's  deep  regret." 

Now  balancing  upon  his  ear 
A  stein  of  foaming  lager  beer, 
"This  attitude."  said  he,  "reveals 
"How  very  sorry  China  feels." 

Then  spinning,  top-like,  on  his  cue, 
"I  can't  begin  to  tell  to  you 
The  deep  remorse  we  suffer  for 
The  death  of  your  Ambassador." 

Next,  placing  on  his  cue  a  plate, 
He  said,  as  it  'gan  to  gyrate: 


"Nothing  that's  happened  in  his  reign 
Has  caused  my  Emperor  so  much  pain/' 

Upon  his  back  he  did  declare. 
While  juggling  five  balls  in  the  air: 
"This  attitude — the  humblest  yet — 
Expresses  personal  regret." 

Last,  spreading  out  a  deck  of  cards 
"Accept  my  Emperor's  regards. 
As  our  intentions  were  well  meant. 
Pray  overlook  the  incident." 


THE  SONNET  CONTEST. 

[A  prize  of  a  steel  engraving  of  George  Washington  was 
offered  for  the  best  sonnet  built  on  rhymes  to  the  names 
Battromie  Szlizexc  and  Waroniki  Kizayteza,  who  had  been 
licensed  to  wed  at  Danville,  111.] 

I 


Battromie,  no  doubt  you  think  me  cheeky, 
But  I  were  no  true  man  did  I  not  seize  a 
Good  chance  like  this  to  tickle  and  to  please  a 
Sweet  person  as  is  darling  Waroniki, 
Let  others  sing  "O"  Lasses  o*  'Auld  Reekie,'  " 
I  sing  of  Danville's  fairest  maid,  for  she's  a 
Peach,  be  she  Szlizexc,  be  she  Kizayteza — 
I  sing  her  praises  in  a  sonnet  squeaky. 

I  hereby  tender  my  congratulations 

To  both  of  you,  dear  Mr.  and  dear  Mrs., 

But  though  I  send  my  true  felicitations, 

A  question's  in  my  mind  tonight  and  this  is: 

By  all  the  shades  of  Polanders  most  shady! 

Which  is  the  Gentleman  and  which  the  Lady? 

F.  P.  A. 


5- 


II. 

What  pluck, 

O.  Battromie! 

Waroniki, 
What  luck! 
I'm  stuck 

On  both  of  ye, 

O,  Hully  Ghee, 
I  duck  ! 

Great  Scott,  and  Zounds ! 

Likewise,  O  my ! 

What  type  in  "pi," 
What  vowel  sounds 

Wait  eye  and  ear 

This  time  next  year  ! 

Pegasus  Shelley 

III 

To  Hymen's  halls  comes  Battromie  Szlizexc 
And  with  him  Waroniki  Kizayteza, 
(This  combination  surely  izayteza  !) 
They  fain  will  now  insert  their  foolish  nexz 
In  Hymen's  noose,  there  to  await  the  wrexz 

53 


Of  Time.     We  hope  "Bart's  not  a  dizaygeza. 

Who  ties  to  Waroniki  jizaypleza, 

But  that  he  doth  admire  the  gentler  sexz 

With  soft  regard.     We  hope  that  Waroniki, 

Who  now  doth  pledge  herself  with  Battromie 

To  live  no  more  a  life  of  atrophie, 

Will  not  find  that  her  two-hulled  craft  is  liki  ! 

The  health  of  W.  K.  and  B.  Szlizexc 

We  now  propose  in  draughts  of  foaming  X  ! 

P.  S.  W. 

IV. 

Battromie,  sur named  hissingly  Szlizexc 
(One  listening  might  think  white  iron  seethed 
'Neath  water  torture,  in  some  smithy  wreathed 
With  smoke  and  climbing  steam.)     Lo  !  yonder 

decks 

Thy  Waroniki  all  those  charms  which  breathed 
Love  first  into  thy  soul !  The  sunlight  ftecks 
Her  swarthy  hair,  and  on  her  stately  neck's 
The  guad  thou  gav'st  her  when  she  shy  bequeathed 
To  thee  her  heart.     The  wedding  morning  calls  ! 
Be  Czech,  or  Polish,  or  Hungarian, 
Austere  to  Western  ears,  the  alien  tongue 

54 


In  which  ye  plight  your  troth  in  humble  halls, 
Its  voice  is  one  with  that  first  speech  wherein 
Glad  Adam  spake  with  Eve  when  time  was  young. 

Fairfield 

V. 

Behold  Chicago's  poets  sighing  :  O,  me, 

My  Latin  now  what  aids,  what  helps  me  Greek 

me? 
Fair  naiads  of  the  Vistula,  I  seek  ye  ! 

To  win  the  prize,  rhymes  never  heard  of  show  me ! 

Let  me  this  Skeezicks  praise,  surnamed  Battromie 
(If  he  the  gent  be)  and  sweet  Waromki ! 
My  sonnet  growi !     Ho,  veni,  vidi,  vici ! 

Hurrah  for  stately  groom  and  maiden  comely  ! 

What  fools  ye  be  !     This  Polish  lady's  visage 
Will,  by  the  flowing  name  of  Paderewski, 
With  naught  but  anger  ever  on  ye  gaze,  ah  ! 
How  dare  ye  call  her  own  beloved  Szlizexc 
A  Skeezicks — brutish  name  and  harsh  and  pesky  ? 
Beware  the  nails  of  Mrs.  Kizayteza  ! 

Mezzofanti 


55 


HYMN  BEFORE  BATTLE. 

W  glory  to  our  holy  cause  !  Confusion  to  our 

foes! 

And  glory  to  our  leader  as  she  into  action  goes ! 
And  where  the  fight  is  thickest,  where  the  hairpins 

are  in  piles 
You'll  see    the  nodding  ostrich  plume  of  Alice 

Bradford  Wiles. 

Those  lightning  bugs  of  science,  with  their  head 
lights  on  behind, 

The  writing  experts,  far  and  wide  we'll  scatter,  as 
the  winds. 

Chaff  scatters.  And,  victorious,  our  scratched 
and  tattered  files 

Will  cheer  the  nodding  ostrich  plume  of  Alice 
Bradford  Wiles. 

Then  glory   to  our   holy   cause !     And   let   the 

welkin  ring ! 
We'll  clasp  our  fingers  on  the  hair  of  every  mean 

old  thing, 

56 


And  where  the  false  fronts,  switches,    bangs,    and 

hairpins  lie  in  piles 
You'll  see  triumphant  wave  the   plume    of   Alice 

Bradford  Wiles. 

Minerva  Fuller-Prunes 


ALL  THAT  I  ASK 
From  Poems  of  Passion 

[From  Ellen  Whaler  Wheelwright] 

that  I  ask  is  but  to  stand — 
Or  sit — and  hold  your  burning   hand. 
Ah,  love!  that  would  indeed  be  grand!— 
All  that  I  ask. 

All   that   I   ask   is   but   to   hold 

You  in  embrace  that's  not  too  bold — 
Just  bold  enough,     O  joy  pure  gold! — 
All  that  I  ask. 

All  that  I  ask   is   but  to   seize 

Your  lips,  and  drain  them  to  the  lees. 
Would  that  not  be,  love,  just  the  cheese  ?- 
All  that  I  ask. 


57 


WHEN  POLACKS  WED. 

Rondeau. 

n  Polacks  wed  all  Sheol  breaks  loose; 
One's  larynx  suffers  like  the  deuce  ; 
The  alphabet  goes  on  a  spree, 
Our  eyes  get  criss-cross  as  can  be. 
Such  quips  and  cranks  the  types  produce. 

I'd  like,  as  Hymen  ties  this  noose, 
To  wish  both  joy — but  what's  the  use? 
The  names  are  far  too  much  for  me 

When  Polacks  wed. 

Still,  let  me  try.     As  I  deduce, 
Battro's  the  gander.  War'  the  goose, 
Hoch,  dreimal!  then,  the  zigzag  he! 
And,  Hoch!  the  fair,  mellifluous  she! 
But  what  a  strain  it  is,  O  Zeus! 

When  Polacks  wed. 
Pegasus  Shelley 


These  verses  originally  appeared  in 
the  Chicago  Tribune;  they  are  re- 
published  by  permission  :  :  : 


59 


RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


. 


LOAN  DEPT. 


is  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


17Hay'65J  D 

.-.—  o  i  r> 

F3&C  "J  *•»'-' 
.     •  Pi'rf 

JUM   B'6b'4 

;. 

' 

inCtQ 

Iff 

8  A  wy 

597393 


' 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


Tf^jPF'. 


m  -m 

'mf, 


